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Phantagraph, v. 9, issue 2, whole 37, August 1941
Page 2
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The Phantagraph 3 Ever in restlessness onward I stumble, Seeking and pining, scarce heeding my way; Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble, Back to the scene of the lost yesterday. Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes Rises in [ominous?] grandeur to view; Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue. Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and [beams?], Frail may it be, yet how simple the trying; Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams. What is yon face in the moonlight appearing; Have I at last found the maiden that fled? Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread. Currents surround me, and drowsily swaying, Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face. Eagerly hasting, half panting, half praying, Forward I reach for the vision of grace. Murmuring waters about me are closing, Soft the sweet vision advances to me: Done are my trials; my heart is reposing Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea. EPILOGUE As the rash fool, a prey of Unda's art Drowns through the passion of his fever'd heart, So are our youth, inflam'd by tempters fair, Bereft of reason and the manly air. How sad the sight of Strephon's virile grace Turn'd to confusion at his Chloe's face, And e'em Pelides, dear to Grecian eyes, Sulking for loss of his thrice-cherish'd prize, Gain rest by shunning the destructive sex!
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The Phantagraph 3 Ever in restlessness onward I stumble, Seeking and pining, scarce heeding my way; Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble, Back to the scene of the lost yesterday. Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes Rises in [ominous?] grandeur to view; Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue. Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and [beams?], Frail may it be, yet how simple the trying; Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams. What is yon face in the moonlight appearing; Have I at last found the maiden that fled? Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread. Currents surround me, and drowsily swaying, Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face. Eagerly hasting, half panting, half praying, Forward I reach for the vision of grace. Murmuring waters about me are closing, Soft the sweet vision advances to me: Done are my trials; my heart is reposing Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea. EPILOGUE As the rash fool, a prey of Unda's art Drowns through the passion of his fever'd heart, So are our youth, inflam'd by tempters fair, Bereft of reason and the manly air. How sad the sight of Strephon's virile grace Turn'd to confusion at his Chloe's face, And e'em Pelides, dear to Grecian eyes, Sulking for loss of his thrice-cherish'd prize, Gain rest by shunning the destructive sex!
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